Angel
by Artemisdesari
Summary: Sequel to Prayer and The Hand of Sorrow, the aftermath of events and the beginning of new ones.
1. Chapter 1

_The sequel is here. So The Hand of Sorrow and Prayer have their follow up, I have places that I want to go with this arc, another one already planned after this one and possibly more after that, because this will not leave me alone and I think that my inner Cas is mad at me for putting him through what I am._

_Lyrics are from Angel by Blue October, an incredible, haunting song that I chose before this was finished and while I'm not entirely convinced that it goes anymore, I can't find anything better. Please R&R, they help fuel the creative process, flames damage the environment, think of the trees!_

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own either song, nor show. I would not be writing fanfic if I did now would I?_

Angel.

_**I'm wishing the bath water clean  
She hides in the back and is unseen  
I take off the mask that surrounds me  
Look me in the face  
What do you see  
I feel like a boy the age of 13  
My body grows up  
But my mind stays the same  
Look me in the face  
What do you see?**_

As they pull into the motel, both Sam and Dean are silent. There is nothing for them to celebrate here, nothing to crow over or show that anything has really been achieved. Even if they _have_ freed Castiel, who is lying on the backseat, covered with a blanket that is now stained with his blood and the only indication that he is even _alive_ under it is the occasional breathless moan or pain filled cry. Dean has not exactly been careful on this drive. His real interest here has been more in getting Castiel to the motel room, getting him patched up and getting them the hell away again, getting on the road and going on the run, putting motel and angelic assistance behind them for however long it may take.

Then again, Dean has never really needed angelic assistance, sneered at it when it was offered and complained about not receiving it when it came too late. Not so much fickle in his assessment of need or desire to see them as believing that if the angels were to have been useful allies they could have at least helped out once in a while. Of course now that he knows the truth, knows that the higher up angels were looking forward to letting Lucifer loose so that they could get on with bringing paradise and wiping out the mud-monkeys, he has realised that they were never going to be useful allies. Except for Castiel, even though he had a slight relapse, he came through for them in the end. Which has resulted in this tangled mess and a moment too long spent staring at a dark motel room while listening to Castiel's laboured breathing in the back seat.

When he pulls himself together, they get out of the car, moving with more wariness than speed, even though they know that time is short, they cannot risk that the angels are already there, already waiting for them. A quick check satisfies their immediate concerns, but getting Castiel out of the car and into the room proves almost as hard as it was to get him out of the building the angels had tortured him in. The angel is limp, in pain and Dean is acutely aware of the blood that stains his clothing, seeping through all his layers and drying, sticky and itchy, leaving an uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades and part of him knows that no matter how hard he tries to scrub himself clean, he will more than likely never feel like he has really washed Castiel's, Jimmy's, blood from him. He regrets this, all of it, regrets that it was action taken in _his_ name that has made Castiel into this broken thing, regrets that he did not push Seraphiel harder for information, that he ignored his instincts and did not give Zachariah that ultimatum; free Cas, leave Sam alone and let him at Lucifer, or feel free to stand and watch as the world burns. Simply regrets that he was not strong enough.

Sam holds the door open as Dean shoulders his way through, holding Castiel tight against him until he all but drops the angel onto the bed nearest him, _Sam's_ bed, the angel a dead weight in his arms and lack of sleep and worry and the drain of adrenaline from his system is taking it's toll on Dean. He is functioning on autopilot now. Gathering the first aid kit and taking it to the bed so that he can patch Cas up as best he can, wants to take him to a hospital, can see that even though the minor cuts and older bruises are healing before his eyes, the new cuts, the ones that he _saw_ being inflicted on his friend, are not. They are still seeping and still open and Dean wonders at the fact that the angel has not died yet, that he is still breathing and still fighting to live even with all the things that have been done to him. So even though Dean wants to take Castiel to the hospital, they do not have the time, Dean will have to hope that he will be good enough at this to patch the angel up well enough that he can survive, can put himself back together. There is so much that Dean needs to ask, starting from 'why' and progressing to 'what', but he cannot and even were Castiel conscious he could not, could not engage in a discussion that would quickly lead to the dread chick flick moment.

So while Sam puts together the hex bags, Dean turns his attention completely to Cas, tells the unconscious angel that this is going to hurt like a son of a bitch, that he is sorry, does not want to hurt him anymore than he already is but he has to clean the wounds, stitch up the larger ones, wishes that he could take his time with them, but all too aware that time is a luxury that they do not have. He knows that they will need to dress Castiel, is hoping that the angel will wake up before they have to leave so that he can do it himself, is not looking forward to playing dress up with the angel and nor does he like the idea of trying to get him back into the car naked, all too aware that at the moment the only thing covering Cas is a thin sheet that will do nothing against the cold. It also serves to make him all the more aware of how much smaller than him, how much softer, the vessel, Jimmy, is and he finds himself hoping that Jimmy is not in there anymore, not because he has something against the man, he does not, he simply hopes that Jimmy is gone because no one should have to go through that, no one should have to suffer through torture. Dean should know.

Still, even though Dean is sure that unconsciousness is a new and far better place for Cas to be right now, he cannot help but want him to open his eyes. Is just rising to go and shower when the angel makes a sound, a groan, the mumble of Dean's name and the hunter stops in his tracks.

_**How do you tell an angel  
That you don't believe in God?  
Why do I feel  
Like such a stranger  
I look around  
I look around  
And all my friends are gone**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	2. Chapter 2

_Next chapter, my little gift to you all on this fine summery day, angst. Thanks to the reviewers and the readers and the alerters, generally thanks to all!_

_**But oh would you be me?  
Because I would be you  
Oh you'd be happy  
Only if you wanted to  
And how would you treat me?  
Because I would treat you  
Oh you'd be happy  
Only if you wanted to**_

Unconsciousness, Castiel decides, is nice. There is no pain here, no words, no thought and no fear. Just the never ending bliss that is floating in blackness without care or worry, loss or concern. He is simply _here_, where ever _here_ is, he neither knows nor is particularly interested in how long he has been in this place, in this limbo between life and death, only knows that he has no desire to wake up and look at the world once more. Look at a world that has brought him nothing but fear and pain since he was sent to rescue Dean from Hell.

Dean. So much has been sacrificed in his name. Home, friendships, certainty, stability, all gone, all thrown to the winds and even though Castiel had known that his actions would have consequences, lethal consequences, and there he had been under no illusions, he had still chosen to act. He had still chose Dean above Heaven, knows that even knowing what he does now, he would still make that same choice all over again. Even knowing about the torture and the lies, he would still have turned his back on his family, still would have sided with Dean, because Dean needed, still does need, that constant, the constant that he had lost when Sam began to drink the demon blood.

Which ultimately is the thought which starts the painful, agonising, process of waking, something that could take seconds or an eternity. He does not know, he does not care, all he is aware of is that he does not want to wake. Does not want to return to that place of cold and hurt and fear. Does not want to open his eyes and look upon the dark ceiling that has been decorated with a trap designed to squash his grace. Does not want to open his eyes and discover that Zachariah stopped Dean when they were so close to freedom. But he does. He _does_ open his eyes, because he believes that Dean needs him, believes that if Dean _did_ succeed, if they _did_ escape, he does not have the luxury of giving in to this bliss and false safety. So he struggles upwards, struggles out of the welcoming black, wishing that the agony of his half healed injuries was not waiting for him, the sharp stab of wounds still seeping, the dull throb of cuts half healed all drawing a moan from his unwilling lips and damaged vocal chords. Feels the bed that he is lying on shift and sink as someone sits beside him, hears his name muttered in a voice that is rough, but still as gentle as it knows how to be.

After so long of half darkness under a single blazing light, so long hearing a gentle voice coupled with the slash of a knife or the crack of bones, Castiel cannot help it, he whimpers with remembered pain and terror, despises himself for it, for giving in to the assault of memories, feels the body next to him draw away, blinks eyes that expected to see familiar darkness, sees concerned faces instead. Dean and Sam, the younger hovering uncertainly at the end of the bed, Dean watching him with eyes filled with compassion, understanding and _guilt_. Finds that he is grateful that Dean does not pity him, wonders at the guilt when all of this has been a result of Castiel's actions alone.

"Dean," the name still sounds like a prayer, sounds like a plea and a thank you and all the things that Castiel will never be able to say, because he does not know how, has never had to say it, never had to know how to say it, but Dean understands, seems to understand and Castiel is grateful for that too.

"Hey, Cas," Dean smiles at him, tries to smile but Castiel knows that it is forced, the smile, knows that even though it is full of relief it does not reach green eyes that dance with concern, "how're you feeling?" Castiel considers the question, has never been asked such a thing before, has never had to analyse what he actually _feels_, has never really _felt_ before, not in a way that humans would understand.

"Like a great many sharp objects have been thrust into me," he responds finally and though he is aware that both the Winchesters know his situation is no laughing matter, they both smile anyway because his response is so literal, just so _Castiel_ and it brings them comfort to know that he is still there, still capable of thought and able to be himself, even if he is a little broken.

"You feeling up to getting some clothes on?" Dean asks, keeping his tone light, his eyes apologising for asking though he knows that he has to ask it and Castiel is aware now that though a thin sheet covers everything below the waist, beneath it the vessel, no, _his body_ is still unclothed. He has never thought about nudity or modesty before, is aware that humans are conscious of such things, even in their sleep, their dreams, has wondered at it, marvelled at the variety of garments and layers, but has never truly considered it. So he nods, uncertain of what to say, of what to do, feeling weak and tired and hurting more than he cares to admit, more than he knows how to express with each passing second. "Good," Dean squeezes his shoulder, a gesture of silent support and compassion, still understanding. "Sam'll help you get dressed, I'm gonna go clean up."

Dressing is awkward, even with Sam's assistance, probably partly because of it. Castiel has never had to clothe the vessel, or disrobe it, so does not really understand what goes where, how zippers work, has never _used_ one. Sam seems embarrassed by his nudity, keeps his eyes averted as much as possible, does not meet Castiel's eyes even when he is looking away from the body, though the angel supposes that this might not just be down to his lack of clothing. Even though it feels like it takes an age, it does not take all that long to get him into a pair of torn, faded, jeans and a worn, almost threadbare, black t-shirt with a plaid over shirt, Sam mumbling apologies all the while for the condition of the clothes, but that they are all that the Winchesters have, does not truly comprehend that Castiel really does not _care_ about it, does not exactly know any differently, angels not needing clothes when in their true forms and all that.

Castiel has other concerns anyway, like his barely healed injuries, keeping the body alive with the massive blood loss, hiding himself from his superiors. He takes a moment to wonder, as Sam helps him sit back on the bed again, whether he should at least attempt to leave, aware that it will more than likely cause him more problems. Wonders why he has not heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, deduces from Sam's frown that he is thinking the same thing. Wonders how long it will take for his superiors, former superiors, to find them, wants to investigate why there is such silence in the small room he is watching, cannot stand on his own to go and do so, glances up at Sam to see the same resolve flicker there and is relieved when the door opens. The relief quickly turns to something else, something that he is not so quick to identify when he sees that Dean is still in his bloodstained clothes, realises that it is worry that he is feeling, mixing with fear as he notices the person with his saviour for the first time, _recognises_ the vessel, but not the one in control. Something goes tight, because he should have known that Dean could not have gotten to him on his own.

_**How do you tell your Father,  
That you want him to notice you?  
Why does this seem like such a bother?  
When mom says you'd be better off dead  
But I want to see you  
I still want to see you**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	3. Chapter 3

_I didn't think I would get this up so soon, but here it is in all it's dubious glory._

_**Oh would you call me?  
Oh it's not hard too  
I'm the first one  
On your birthday  
And oh would you write me  
On my birthday  
Graduation, was yesterday  
Yesterday  
Oh...**_

Castiel's return to consciousness had taken a great deal of weight off Dean's mind, though if he were to be honest with himself, he knew that he would have a great deal more to worry about in the near future. Not even an angel would be able to get through that level of torture unscathed. For the moment, however, Dean did not want to think about the future problems that he may have, or dealing with a angel with PTSD. What he wants at this precise moment, is a hot shower, a moment to stand back and relax and scrub himself clean, because even though he knows that getting the physical blood of the angel off of his skin will at least help, it will do nothing about the metaphorical blood that is seeping deeper and deeper into his skin. The blood that is his symbol of guilt for putting Cas into this position in the first place and he suspects that there will never be anything that he can do to make up for it.

A whimper catches his attention and he pauses in the act of taking off his t-shirt. For a second he thinks that he has imagined it, until questing eyes fall upon a form huddled between the bath and the sink. A slight figure of a woman whose brown hair is twisted into a messy bun that is now falling about her face and stray strands are stuck to the twin tracks of dried tears that lead from grey eyes to the point of her chin. Her knees have been pulled up in front of her, pressing into her right arm and her hand is pushed tightly to her chest just above her left breast, Dean can see the deep crimson stain of blood there, between fingers that are too pale. He begins to say the name of the angel, stops himself, realises that this is not Seraphiel just from the way that her breath hitches and she stares at him in utter terror. He curses and she flinches back into the dirty space, drawing a sigh from him as he adjusts the t-shirt and crouches down in front of her, spreading hands to show that he is not a threat and keeping his voice soft as he addresses her.

She shivers at the sound of his voice, shrinks further into herself and for a moment he has to wonder if she even knows what happened to her before Seraphiel left or died or whatever happened to her. Another life on his hands, another angel who has sacrificed themselves for him. So he keeps talking to her, using the same tone that he would on a frightened child, calm, soothing when all he wants to do right now is scream, maybe throw a few things, because he has enough on his hands right now with Sam and Cas and the angels who are going to be hunting them all down, not to mention Lucifer and the damn Apocalypse, to be dealing with an injured, frightened, former vessel who is now going to be on the hit list for every demon from here to kingdom come. So at this precise moment he is actually quite proud of the way that he manages to stay totally calm, manages to talk her into relaxing a little, to letting him touch her cheek and help her sit on the edge of the bath so that he can take a look at her wound, the moment that it was inflicted still vivid in his mind.

It is still bleeding, though it is sluggish, more of a trickle than a river, something that he is grateful for or she would be dead on the bathroom floor rather than just frightened and in pain. At the same time, though, he and Sam have been gone for hours, the fact that she is still bleeding is a worry and they should take her to a hospital, that same as they should have taken Cas to a hospital, and the same holds true now as it did earlier, they simply do not have time. They do not even know how much time they _do_ have, just that it is rapidly slipping through their fingers and the drain is getting more and more rapid the longer that Dean sits in this bathroom trying to calm and treat this scared young woman. He feels selfish, again, for that, for wanting to hurry things along and wishing that she had not just been dropped in his lap by heartless, cold, angels, for being tempted to turn his back on her, not because he cannot be bothered to help her and certainly not because he does not want to, but just because he is not sure that he can, not if he needs to protect Cas and Sam too, there is only so much that he is capable of and even his ability to do that has been called into question by recent events. He needs time to think, now, and the girl needs to be cleaned up, at least patched up a little, and time is still running out, so he puts a finger under her chin, forces her to look up at him, tells her that he is going to get Sam to take a look at her, patch her up, that they will take care of her, and even though he knows that is a lie, knows that she knows it, he is relieved when she nods and allows him to help her stand, help her from the room.

Sam's reaction is exactly the one that Dean expects, slightly wide eyes that narrow into the classic bitch face expression that Dean has come to know so well, the one that demands to know what he has done now and why he has done it. The one that has been curiously absent the last weeks, what with demon blood detox, something Dean never wishes to relive thank you very much and most definitely does not want to think about, then Castiel was missing and Sam was more understanding about that because he knows to some extent what the angel means to Dean, then there was the finding and rescuing of Cas, and even that blind plunge into the unknown failed to bring forth such a reaction, but finding a former vessel in the bathroom, _that_ brings forth bitch face number four, and as much as Dean would almost say that he has missed it, he thinks that maybe Sam's timing could be better, because the girl shrinks away from him and whimpers, sees Castiel and lets out a cry of fear that seems totally out of place.

Castiel's reaction is much of what Dean has come to expect of the angel. He shuts down, completely, any emotion that may have been on his face vanishes as soon as she cries out, though Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, he saw a flicker of hurt there that was quickly squashed, and his concern turns from the girl to Castiel, because angels do not feel, even if this one has occasionally shown that maybe he does feel more than he ought, and really, no one comes out of torture unscathed and he needs to keep an eye on Cas, at least until he is healed, physically because mentally, Dean knows that mentally he is going to be a mess. Sam is talking to the girl now, and Dean feels a twinge of guilt that he has not even asked for her name, but Sam is using that voice he has, the one that he uses when he is talking to the victims, when he is gaining trusts and confidences that Dean would normally have to pull a muscle to gain and there is a reason that it is always Sam's job. She is following Sam, though, not confident in him by any means, but drawn in by large eyes that understand and calloused hands that are gentle and firm, leading her to sit on a chair while Dean watches his brother asking silent permission from her to let him take a look, and though her eyes linger on Castiel, she nods. Deciding that all here is as well as he can expect he turns back to the bathroom, meets Castiel's eyes for a moment, asks the question silently, knows that the angel can read it and frowns when he turns away.

It is another thing that the does not have time for, another thing to add to the list of things that have been making him feel guilty of late and he is going to have to do something about that, soon, but for now he _has_ to shower, has to get the dried blood off his skin, has to take a moment to think and to plan, because he has not really gotten much further than patch Cas up and run, and that just is not going to cut it anymore. Not with this girl being ditched in their laps and he does not know what to do with her. He knows that she will need protecting, but he also knows that being with him and Sam, with Castiel, is not going to be remotely safe for her, because as soon as Castiel is recovered, they are all going to be heading for Lucifer, right into the centre of the very beings that are out to kill them all and he cannot, in good conscience, drag her into that. He is still thinking as he steps under the hot spray, letting the water run over him before he starts to scrub, thinking about where they can take her. Bobby's place is out, the older hunter will more than likely want to be in on the whole stopping Lucifer thing, which he will not be able to be if he is watching a helpless woman, and the Winchesters have few enough real friends these days, too few people that they can ask for help, which reminds Dean that he still does not know what happened to Anna, it is something else that he needs to ask, later, handle one problem at a time.

Fact of it is that there is only really one person that he can trust with this girl, one person that he would be remotely comfortable leaving her with, even if he has not seen her in over a year, since before he died in fact. He should have called her sooner, he knows that, and his first contact with her should not be to ask this favour, to palm off one of his ever increasing number of problems on her, hopes that she is still trustworthy.

_**How do you hold the special victim?  
When they push you away  
When they've been  
Raped on the inside  
Torn on the outside  
The dirt and ugly from the stain that they try to hide  
Touched in private places  
Embarassed faces  
To scared to ask for help**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	4. Chapter 4

_So this is the final chapter of this particular fic, but not the final part of the _verse_, seems that I keep finding bits to add and places to take them, so the next one is called Truth and will be up the beginning of next week. Thanks again to readers and reviewers and those who put it on alert. I make no excuses for this bit, except that I wanted to look at Castiel's thoughts on Sam... ... basically I babbled._

_**Oh would you be me?  
Because I would be you  
Oh you'd be happy  
Only if you wanted to  
And how would you treat me?  
Because I would treat you  
You'd be happy  
Only if you wanted to**_

Castiel has to wonder at Sam Winchester as he watches him tend to the girl, the girl who was once the host to his sister, whose death he can feel lingering on her, just enough sacrificed to keep the girl alive while avoiding the same fate as he, which explains her fear of him and his instant dislike of her. He has to wonder at how the boy can be so gentle, so caring and so kind when the blood of demons runs through his veins, with the things that he has done, was duped and pushed and bullied into doing. The sense of the demon is not so strong in him anymore, it does not cause Castiel's borrowed skin to creep, skin that is not borrowed anymore but is his own and he feels sorrow for that. Sorrow, such a bittersweet emotion that he had never thought he would experience, something that he sacrificed his place in Heaven to try and save. He does not wish to feel such things, thought once that he did, envied humans their feelings, regrets that now as he watches Sam and his kindness to this stranger.

He is struggling with all of this, afraid to even blink because he is worried that if he does he will open them again and in that split second of black he will be back on the table and back in that room with Jael standing over him and he cannot face that. Wants to heal, wants to be himself once more, wants to use his grace to crush the emotions from him. He cannot, cannot even use it to heal something as simple as a knife wound now, it is cracked within him, leaking and bleeding into the human body that should not be his and he knows that Jael did something, something worse than just binding him, something worse than just the torture, because it should not be like this, it should not be keeping him alive while this body struggles to put itself back together. All of him is fighting and all he is fighting is himself, afraid, alone and confused, trapped in a body that was never his to claim and has now been forced upon him.

"Katie," he hears her speak for the first time, her eyes on Sam and though she lacks the easy confidence of Seraphiel, he can see that she has her own strength. "My name is Katie." Sam smiles, introduces himself and Castiel, gestures to the bathroom and the angel can only assume that he is telling her the name of his brother, reaching for a t-shirt to offer her in place of her ruined clothes. There is something so different about this Sam, Castiel was told that Sam was dangerous, Sam was to bring about the Apocalypse and must be stopped, before he learnt the truth and after that, Sam was still dangerous, a loose canon who would become a monster. There is no monster here, just a kind young man who can see someone hurting and is trying to help them in the only way that he can. Castiel can appreciate how young Sam really is now, and how gentle he can be, Sam is not a bad man, he has simply been misguided and Castiel wishes that he could have such an excuse for _his_ actions.

Dean emerges from the bathroom not ten minutes after he entered it, short hair damp from washing and face resolute. Which is of little comfort to Castiel, because he has come to the conclusion that the brothers really do not have much of a plan beyond 'run and hide' which is not much of a plan at all and he does not believe that they have taken the presence of this woman, this Katie, into account. He meets Castiel's eyes for a moment, until once again the angel turns his gaze away, cannot look at Dean, cannot let him see just how damaged, how broken he is, needs Dean to have faith in him where he cannot have faith in himself. Hears Dean ask Sam to give him a moment, takes him to the other side of the room where they talk in hushed voices and Castiel can sense Sam's irritation, Dean has a new plan and Sam does not like it. Katie is alone in the corner, nervous and fiddling with the hem of the far too large grey t-shirt that Sam has helped her into, her eyes turned away as she listens to them hiss and argue with each other while pretending not to.

They do not keep the angel and former vessel in the dark for long. As suspected, Dean _does_ have a plan and as suspected, Sam does not like it, nor does Katie. For the first time since she was lead from that dirty bathroom, she is arguing and Castiel admires that for a moment, knows that it is futile, and gradually sinks into disinterest and indifference. Katie is arguing with Dean, who is yelling back and Sam is in the corner of the room holding a conversation with someone on the other end of a phone line, relief, gratitude and worry evident on his face and in his eyes. He does not like the plan, but he is going along with it, for the sake of his brother, for the sake of this girl, for the sake of Castiel, because there is self loathing in him, though the only reason that the angel can recognise it now is because he feels that self same thing and he dislikes it.

"Ellen's agreed to help us," he cuts into the argument, voice level and calm, gesturing for Dean to take a step back as he talks to the girl in that same tone, reasonable, explaining why they have to do this, that she knows the truth even if she does not want to believe it and Castiel half listens and half dwells on his own pain and misery as he waits for a resolution or for the armies of Heaven to descend on them and take him once more into his own personal hell. Dean is packing, throwing the remainder of his belongings into a duffle bag, clearing up the first aid kit with practised ease and taking the bags out to the car, the clean up and stowing of his gear taking a matter of minutes, a man accustomed to leaving town in a hurry. Whatever Sam has said to Katie has worked, she makes her way out to the car with a mutter and a toss of her head, feet unsteady beneath her and Sam taking her arm to lead her to the right place, to help her into the backseat whether she wants the assistance or not and Castiel is once again struck by how different the boy is from the way his superiors painted him for the sake of his brethren.

"Cas?" Dean is stood in front of him, face concerned but still there is no pity. "You ready to go?" Castiel nods, tries to stand but cannot quite get his feet under him, falls back on the bed with a grunt of frustration and pain, pressing a hand to his abdomen and disgusted by his weakness. "Here, let me..." Castiel knocks the questing hand away, does not miss the flash of hurt in Dean's eyes, quickly disguised. "I just want to check those stitches." He keeps his tone level, but Castiel knows that there will be frustration there soon enough, Dean is not the most patient of men and while he knows that he should be more accepting, that he should allow Dean to help him and accept that which he needs at this moment, Castiel cannot. He cannot allow this weakness to conquer him.

"They are fine, Dean, _I_ am _fine_." So if his words are hissed with a little more venom than he intends them to be, he ignores it, ignores the way that Dean recoils from him with the expression of one struck and ignores the way that his gut clenches with guilt, another new and unwelcome emotion that gives him the push he needs to get to his feet and shuffle awkwardly to the car.

"Whatever, Cas," Dean mutters. "Just get in the damn car."

Guilt is new, it is unwelcome and Castiel wishes that he could ask for help dealing with all of this, but he cannot, he cannot be weak, Dean cannot see it. So he shuffles to the car and waits until Dean's back is to him before he lets the remorse show on his face for a brief moment. Just a moment, then he looks cold again, impassive, the creature that Dean has always known.

_**  
I'm wishing the bath water clean  
She hides in the back and is unseen  
I take off the mask that surrounds me  
Look me in the face  
What do you see?**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


End file.
